


Ghost Nimrod Goes Spooking, Meets Child (and other fatal mistakes made by the ghost zone's greatest hunter)

by Ectopal (bodingly)



Category: Danny Phantom
Genre: Gen, badger cereal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:13:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23898823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bodingly/pseuds/Ectopal
Summary: Skulker's having a nice, normal night doing his dark benefactor's bidding when he's assaulted by a ghost child who has no business being up this late. Things get progressively worse from there when Plasmius sees the child.
Relationships: Danny Fenton & Skulker, Danny Fenton & Vlad Masters
Comments: 15
Kudos: 212





	Ghost Nimrod Goes Spooking, Meets Child (and other fatal mistakes made by the ghost zone's greatest hunter)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SparkyFrootloops](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparkyFrootloops/gifts).



Skulker likes to think that he’s a good sport. 

Sure, maybe there are times when he doesn’t give his prey an honorable chance to escape, but part of life is knowing that there are _consequences_ to being caught unaware. There are no second chances, no mistakes allowed in the hunt; it’s not like the antelope can call a timeout if the lion manages to pounce before it even knows it’s in danger. The world’s got a one strike, you’re out rule, and so does Skulker. That’s the name of the game, and Skulker is damn good at playing it, thank you very much. It’s the same with any prey, and while he doesn’t play fair, Skulker always plays the same way: no holds barred, anything goes, only the strongest survive, baby. If he catches you slipping? That’s on you.

This however...this seems unfair, even by the hunter’s dubious standards.

“Mister Skuwkler?” the ghost child asks, clinging to the hunter’s mechanical leg with deceptive strength as he tries to process the string of threats that Skulker just issued his person. “What’s bloodsporwt?”

“It’s what I’m going to accomplish when you release me, you little whelp!”

“Then no!”

Let’s start at the very beginning.

Skulker’s got it pretty good. He’s a renowned hunter, so skilled even the halfa—whose existence and power had taken the Ghost Zone by storm only a few short years ago—had noticed and put in effort to track him down and request his services. His new benefactor’s got money, resources, connections—everything a hunter of Skulker’s caliber could possibly need to gain a competitive edge over anything he’s trying to hunt. Even better than that, word’s gotten out that he’s allied with Plasmius, and a lot of doors that had previously been closed to him have been unlocked and propped open. Skulker likes the toys, likes the reverence and interest that comes with working with the halfa, so when Plasmius gives him a job? He does it, and he does it well. 

He’s supposed to be testing the skills of Amity Park’s resident ghost hunters. Plasmius had been very specific in his instructions: “I want to know what they’re capable of; you can hurt one, but if I hear that the other is so much as bruised, I’m taking my pound of flesh from _you_ ; if you get caught, do not mention my name,” et cetera, et cetera. It’s clear that there’s something going on between Plasmius and the people he’s hired Skulker to track down and harass, but Skulker didn’t get this far by asking prying questions. 

From his brief stint in the Fenton’s lab, Skulker concluded that it looks _a lot_ like Plasmius’ haunt. The layout of the machines, the space between work benches, even where the protective gear is hung—even the old inventions hanging on the wall are patently identical to what Plasmius has, no two ways about it. Newer designs start to branch out and differ from what Skulker’s seen the halfa produce, but there’s still similarities between the ghost hunter’s work and Plasmius’ he doubts will ever fully vanish, no matter how many iterations separate them from the originals. Either his benefactor worked with these people at some point in the past (Skulker is 50/50 between collaboration and flat out bribery), or he stole their work and aims to continue doing so. 

He planned on eventually making enough of a disturbance down below to alert the humans to his presence and get this show on the road, but the similarities he found between the labs are fascinating. So he hesitated, wanting to know what else about Plasmius he could discover by snooping around here. When the time came, there should have been two _adult_ humans for him to fight. Plasmius described them as a brilliant, beautiful woman and a “bumbling oaf” of a man, but when he’s discovered, it’s by...well, words fail him when the youngest ghost he’s ever seen manages to surprise him and promptly attaches himself to the hunter’s leg.

The usual bravado-filled introductions and threats of violence that Skulker favors when his prey is being obstinate fall on deaf ears as the child starts, of all things, asking him the most _inane_ questions he’s ever heard. “What’s your name; why is your hair gwreen; do they make little boots like youwrs that I can weawr?” As the complete _bizarreness_ of the situation becomes more and more obvious, it’s slowly dawning on the hunter that he may be facing the consequences of being caught unaware for the first time in his career.

But he’s not down for the count just yet. Advantage or not, it’s just a kid, and Skulker has a lot more going for him than owning a complete box of 24 crayons without having broken any of them yet. Skulker goes intangible and flies up over Fenton Works, hoping that the trick is enough that to be able to return to the lab to scrape what was left of the ghost child off the ceiling and get back to business.

No such luck; as he goes faster, the child starts laughing. With a growl, Skulker viciously spins around, trying to swing the clingy little bastard off of him without losing _all_ of his dignity in the process.

“Weeee! Go faster!”

This wasn’t in his contract. He doesn’t have to work under these conditions. He was here to fight some humans, not…their pet ghost boy!

(Some tiny, shriveled part of him is sad about seeing a ghost this young (he obviously didn’t die easy, and his attachment to the lab shows he may be all that’s left of the Fenton’s youngest) but that seed of grief is overwhelmed by the sheer annoyance the child is causing him.)

Still shaking his leg wildly, he puts a wrist up and dials his benefactor. The halfa’s intel must be old if this kid is hanging around the lab, and Plasmius _hates_ not knowing every minute detail about the environment in which he so carefully crafts his plans. The ghost child’s existence will likely push his timetable back, or so Skulker hopes. Maybe if he’s lucky, he’ll be able to (discretely) add another to his growing collection of live specimens while Plasmius works himself into a frenzy to account for this new variable.

Plasmius picks up on the second ring, wearing lab gear and clearly irritated at being caught in the middle of something delicate, if the scowl on his face is any indication. Skulker has never actually seen him in his human form before now, and he takes the opportunity to size the human half up: Masters (and you wouldn’t believe how hard Skulker worked to discretely dig that name up) is a lot younger than the hunter would have guessed. Skulker sees light eyes rimmed with bags, salt-and-pepper hair already favoring white over black, faint traces of scar tissue on all visible skin…

Plasmius must realize that Skulker’s looking at him with a lot more than professional curiosity, because his eyes narrow further as he growls:

“Skulker! What could you possibly want at this hour?”

“Plasmius, there’s been...a complication,” Skulker says as the halfa quickly shifts into his ghost form, work forgotten as he turns his attention to the hunter. “You said there weren’t any ghosts in this house.”

“Yes,” the man says slowly, like he’s trying very hard not to explode at Skulker. “Traditionally, a ghost hunter’s house is void of ghosts, Skulker. And why are you shaking? Hold still; you’re making me nauseous just looking at you.”

Skulker ignores the scathing sarcasm, mostly because he values getting paid, but he does stop shaking his leg. He can vaguely feel the ghost child climbing up his back, but he’s got bigger concerns at the moment; namely, not aggravating Plasmius into ending his contract early.

“How many humans were there again?” he asks, trying to recall their names. “Jack, Madeline…?”

“And their _children_ , Jasmine and Daniel. Four humans, and I _guarantee_ even you will be able to tell them apart, nimrod.”

Suspicion begins to creep its way onto Plasmius’ face; Skulker can tell he’s coming to the wrong conclusion and tries to intercept it, but before he can:

“Don’t tell me you went after the wrong set, Skulker.” And Skulker knows enough not to interrupt him before he’s done. “I will turn you into a wretched pile of ectoplasm if you decided to target the children. There’s a _three_ foot height difference between them, YOU INCOMPETENT—”

“Mister Skuwkler, who’s that mad guy?” a tiny voice asks, right in Skulker’s ear. From this position, the ghost child is perched on his shoulder, clearly visible on screen.

“I didn’t target the children,” Skulker says, vindictively gleeful at how Plasmius’ jaw drops at the sight of the child. “But one of them sure as hell targeted _me_.”

The ghost child gasps and covers his ears.

“Daddy says that’s a bad worwd! Lalalalala—”

Plasmius is very quiet for a long time.

“Skulker,” he finally says, voice so low Skulker has to strain to hear it over the child’s yelling. “Who is that?”

Skulker reaches out with his free arm and grabs the ghost child by the scruff of his neck. 

“Child, be quiet!” he reprimands quietly, shaking the little ghost slightly. The kid yelps as his arms fall from his ears, but he stops yelling. To Plasmius, Skulker says, “I was down in the lab setting up a few things when this... _infant_...came out of nowhere and latched onto me like a leech. I think your intel is old.”

The ghost child flaps his arms indignantly. “I’m _not_ a baby! I’m fouwr!”

“My apologies,” Skulker says insincerely, but the child nods and accepts it with all of the grace a pre-kindergartener can possibly hope to muster.

“It’s okay,” the child says. “I’m going to Jazzies’ school next yeawr!”

“Really.”

The little ghost nods, and that single seed of grief pipes up and tells him that the child likely doesn’t know that he’s dead. “And I alweady know how to spell a lot! I wanna be an astwronaut! And go to space!”

Skulker nods back, sure that any other being in existence would see that he deeply doesn’t care about this conversation. “Can you even _spell_ astronaut, child?”

The ghost child’s face scrunches up in concentration.

“A-S-T-R-O…um…”

“N,” Skulker encourages with the same enthusiasm he would bring to a public execution.

“I know! Don’t tell me! N-A-U-T!”

“Very good,” Skulker praises with the least amount of sincerity he’s ever been able to muster in his afterlife.

“Is that... _Daniel_?” Plasmius cuts in, voice laced with _emotion_ unlike anything Skulker had ever heard from the man. There’s a jarring second where Skulker entirely forgot that he was actually on the phone with the halfa, and reality delivers a swift kick to his shin as his head snaps up to address Plasmius, an apology already on his lips.

Except… he’s not met with anger, or the promise of violence, or cold calculation, or any of the other usual demeanors Plasmius puts on for any of the other ghosts he meets. Unable to look away from the small child now flailing in Skulker’s grip...Plasmius looks _crushed._

The ghost child has no such concerns.

“I’m _Danny_ , not Daniel!” he whines. “Only grandma calls me Daniel!”

“Danny then,” Plasmius says, perhaps the most accommodating Skulker has ever seen him act in his entire afterlife. If Skulker could still sleep, he would be convinced that he’s dreaming. “Do you...how did you turn into a ghost, my boy?”

“I’m— I’m not a ghost!” Danny says, alarmed at the question. His voice warbles as he crosses his arms. It’s obviously a touchy subject for him. “I’m a kid!”

“Of course you’re a child,” Plasmius agrees, voice placating as he eyes the child over wearily. Who was this ghost? Because Skulker has never met him before in his entire afterlife. “What I meant was…what turned your hair white?”

Danny stops flailing and properly looks at the screen for the first time, stifling a yawn in the process. If he was alive, Skulker would be having an aneurysm at the turn his night had taken.

“Mommy says I shouldn’t talk to stwrangers,” Danny says as wearily as a four-year-old can. Clearly, it’s a rule he’s broken many times before.

“You’ve talked to Skulker, correct?” Plasmius asks _gently_. Skulker didn’t know Plasmius could do _anything_ gently.

The child nods uncertainly, and Plasmius continues, “I’m Skulker’s _boss_ —” he shoots Skulker a look _promising_ repercussions if Skulker protests _any_ of this, “—and an old friend of your mother’s. My name is Vlad.”

Danny blows a raspberry in Plasmius’ face. Skulker watches in horror as Plasmius visibly swallows his irritation.

“Mommy doesn’t like ghosts so she wouldn’t be fwriends with one!” the child argues. For a four-year-old, there’s a surprising amount of grief in his words. To his utter astonishment, Skulker can pinpoint the second Plasmius truly _understands_ what the child is saying and watches the irritation fade to sympathy.

The halfa tuts softly. “Your mother can be a bit…overzealous, when it comes to—I’m sorry my boy, she can get very excited when she talks about ghosts and sometimes, she says things that she doesn’t mean. I’m sure she loves you very much, even if you were a ghost.”

Danny sniffs, and genuine panic rolls through the Ghost Zone’s greatest hunter when he realizes that there is a very good chance that Plasmius will demand that _he_ comfort the child if he starts crying. This can’t be happening. This _can’t be_ —

“How did you meet my mommy?” Danny asks, to Skulker’s relief. “She told me she’s nevewr met a ghost before!”

“Ah…yes, that’s true. What if I told you that… I wasn’t always a ghost?” Plasmius asks delicately. Skulker can only guess he’s ramping up to explain dying and the afterlife to a baby, because there is no chance in _hell_ that Plasmius would risk revealing his true identity to the late son of ghost hunters. Never has Skulker wished so badly that he had a fight of flight response; every instinct within him is telling him that _this cannot end well_. But before Plasmius can dive into the crucible that is mortality, the child’s eyes light up in excitement, and he starts waving his hands around wildly to get Plasmius’ attention, as if Plasmius hadn’t been solely focused on the child from the second he was aware the boy existed.

“Me too!” Danny chirps, and without any prompting, proves the existence of the world’s second halfa to them both. He’s painfully small, wearing a matching set of pajamas with rocket ships printed all over them. “Tada!”

“Okay,” Skulker says slowly, when it’s clear that Plasmius has lost the coherency to speak. “This explains how he knew I was in the lab.”

He gingerly looks over at his benefactor, fully expecting the verbal equivalent of a building being napalmed when the halfa—when the _older_ halfa, Skulker corrects himself—gets ahold of himself. What happens next is arguably more upsetting than anything that’s happened so far.

The shock on Plasmius’ face is truly a thing of legend, but it’s quickly outmatched by the sheer _joy_ that bleeds through shortly after and doesn’t fade away. It isn’t until he is offered its polar opposite that Skulker understands what his benefactor had previously been feeling: Plasmius had fully believed the child had died, and he had been _extremely_ upset about it. Skulker has no idea why Plasmius felt that he had _any_ stake in this child’s life (or death), and he doesn’t want to know anything about it. The thought that the unyielding, unwavering halfa could possess the same emotions as any other human is so uncomfortable and alien to the hunter that Skulker doesn’t dwell on it.

“Marvelous,” Plasmius says, staring so earnestly at the child Skulker realizes that he’s not going to be mounting any halfa pelts to his den wall any time soon. “My boy, what else can you do?”

The little halfa is visibly preening. He shifts back into his ghost form and bats Skulker’s hand away like it’s made of paper, taking a moment to rub his visibly drooping eyes as he decides what he’ll do first.

“He’s stronger than he looks,” Skulker comments, idly rubbing the machinery and checking for dents in his armor; Plasmius barely looks away long enough to nod at Skulker.

Danny grins when he figures it out; he’s missing both of his front teeth, and Skulker must be hallucinating, because he did _not_ just hear Plasmius chuckle at the admittedly cute sight. “Watch this!” Danny says with a giggle.

The child flies up out of Skulker’s reach and disappears.

“ _Skulker_!” Plasmius snaps, and there is so much actual worry in his tone Skulker would have gagged if he could.

“He’s still here,” the hunter replies, carefully keeping his voice void of the judgement he’s feeling; the ghost child isn’t running, just showing off for his audience, and the fact that Plasmius is so worked up over something as simple as turning invisible…doesn’t bode well for the free time Skulker had planned to take after this assignment was through. “He’s still got a heat signature, Plasmius. I won’t let him out of range.”

The child flies around behind Skulker, stopping right next to his ear.

“Boo!” Danny yells, turning visible once again. “Gotcha!”

“Oh, you scared me,” Skulker says, a beat too late and flat to belay anything other than confusion over what the situation had devolved into. Plasmius faux _gasps_ on the screen, hands on his cheeks, looking absolutely _delighted_. The feared, revered Vlad Plasmius, scourge of the Ghost Zone, one of the most powerful entities _alive_ , is playing with a _child._

The child giggles again, clearly tickled pink that he’d pulled one over the both of them.

“I can shoot laser beams too! And I can go through walls n’ stuff. And I can fly wreally wreally fast! Do you wanna see?” Skulker’s not sure how he got it, but the child is a bundle of unbridled energy now, somersaulting mindlessly as he loops around Skulker.

“I believe you,” Plasmius says quickly. “But Danie—Danny, my boy—how did you learn to do all of this?”

“I don’t know,” Danny says with a shrug. “I can just do it sometimes!”

It wasn’t a satisfactory answer by any stretch, but in all likelihood, it was the truth. Only Plasmius had any clue of how a human became a halfa, and while he probably had his guesses, there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d be sharing them with Skulker anytime soon. Skulker had his own theories (there wasn’t a ghost who didn’t), and if any of them held even a shred of truth, it was probably for the best that the child wasn’t aware of how he became a halfa.

“It’s fantastic,” Plasmius says softly. “Do your parents know you can do these things sometimes?”

Danny shakes his head as he muffles a yawn. Plasmius nods like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Skulker barely holds back a groan.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Plasmius says. “Your parents aren’t always very nice to gho—people who can do things like you can. We wouldn’t want them finding out about this just yet.”

Skulker notes the intentional slip but doesn’t dare comment on it.

“They’ll get mad at me,” Danny agrees, rubbing at his eyes again. Skulker can’t tell if it’s a response to stress or exhaustion.

“Very mad,” Plasmius promises. “Who knows what they’d do if they found out? But if that happens, I’ll protect you, my boy.”

“Thanks,” Danny says, this time unable to hide his yawn.

“You’re tired. I think it’s time for bed, don’t you, son?”

“Yeah,” Danny agrees. “Good night Mister Vlad Plasmius and Mister Skuwkler. I gotta go to bed now.”

Skulker ignores the fond little wave that Plasmius gives the younger halfa, wishing that he could sink into the ground and never be sentient again. He still sticks around long enough to make sure that the little halfa doesn’t accidentally get himself killed by turning human before he’s got both feet firmly planted on the ground. The child tucks himself into bed and is asleep before Skulker can worry about how he’s going to get the brat to close his eyes. Without a word, Plasmius hangs up the call. This time, with no one to hear him, Skulker groans.

“You’re going to cause me a world of trouble, you little runt. I can just feel it,” he says to the sleeping child. The child snores right back at him. Skulker refuses to think that it’s cute.

Looking down at the ghost child, thinking about the grief Plasmius is going to cause him in the near future because of the little body breathing peacefully in front of him, Skulker feels for the first time that the universe has finally pulled one over him. He’s never had any sympathy for his prey, but he thinks that one some level, there may be some justification in the desire to scream that fills so many of his targets when all the walls close in around them.

Because he’s a goddamn professional, Skulker wakes up the ghost hunters and gives them a show, but he’s at best going through the motions. Plasmius had been right about their capabilities; the woman was downright lethal and a crack shot to boot, nearly blasting him out of the air twice. Her husband…well, he wasn’t anywhere as bad as what the older halfa described, but the difference in ability was clear enough. They yell in excitement about finally having the proof they’ve wanted for so long—he remembers the younger halfa mentioning that he’s the first ghost they’ve ever seen and rethinks his analysis of the pair; for the first hunt, the two are doing remarkably well. With a few more encounters, they’ll be a force to be reckoned with.

Skulker wants to taunt them about the proverbial spy in their citadel as a distraction when one of the woman’s shots is a little too close for comfort, but thinks better of it when he remembers Plasmius’ reaction to the child’s existence. He has no doubt that Plasmius’ offer of _protection_ would directly translate into wiping anyone stupid enough to even accidentally threaten the younger halfa off the face of the Earth.

He makes his escape easily enough and promises that it isn’t the last they’ll see of him with the same enthusiasm he’d give to watching paint dry. It doesn’t daunt the hunters at all, and Skulker thinks that the apple doesn’t fall very far from the tree where observational skills are concerned.

Flying back to Wisconsin, he’s almost dreading speaking with the older halfa face to face after everything that happened that night. Skulker tells himself that he did exactly what he said he would do, and Plasmius owes him what’s due plus _extra_ for not making the older halfa the last of his species. The woman destroyed several of his best weapons, and Plasmius had promised to replace anything that broke when he was on assignment, so Skulker figures that it’s _just_ worth it to go back to Plasmius’ lair tonight.

He phases through the roof of the mansion and doesn’t stop until he’s through the foundation and standing in the lab below. A rare sight greets him: Plasmius is frantically pacing around his lab, barely acknowledging Skulker when he appears. When it’s clear the halfa isn’t going to start the conversation, Skulker steps forward and drops the remains of his ruined weapons on the empty lab table between them. He notes that whatever Plasmius _had_ been working on earlier is nowhere to be seen and has likely been put on the back burner indefinitely.

“The hunters were obviously green,” he begins, making sure everything else in his inventory is accounted for as he speaks. “But the woman knows her stuff. You said that the man was the mind behind most of their equipment, but he isn’t exactly…”

His sentence peters out as Plasmius stops pacing and turns to face him, resting his hands on either side of the lab table’s edge.

‘ _Oh_ , fuck _,’_ is the only thing Skulker can think, because there’s a glint in his eyes that Skulker knows too well. The hunter takes a step back out of pure shock.

All ghosts, by nature and definition, have something keeping them tethered to this plane. There’s a word for it, which starts with ‘O’, but most ghosts think it’s a derogatory way to explain why they exist, so Skulker avoids it when he can. The hunter knows what his is well enough: he wants to be the greatest hunter the world has ever seen, and he won’t be satisfied until that lofty goal is achieved. Every other ghost he’s met, strong or weak, predator or prey, has a goal, a desire; some are more subtle than others, more urgent, but without fail, there’s always a _reason_ that a ghost exists.

When Plasmius made his debut in the Ghost Zone, Skulker had thought he had finally found an exception to that fundamental rule. It was unnatural, for a ghost to exist without something to drive forward that existence, but so was the concept of a half-ghost. Of course, Plasmius had goals, had desires, but they were human in nature, mercurial and constantly varying in importance depending on what the halfa wanted. Skulker had never been so envious when he realized that Plasmius could put something he cared about down and never look at it again, if the mood struck him.

Skulker had assumed, just like everyone else who knew about Plasmius, that because the halfa hadn’t fully died, his ghost half didn’t need a desire to sustain itself. The human part of him, the human desires he had, kept that urge in check.

Apparently, that was only partially true. Because while it was obvious that Plasmius didn’t _need_ something to tie him to this plane, looking at his face, the tension in his shoulders, the frantic tapping of fingers against metal…

“Do you think that I’m suited to fatherhood, Skulker?”

…he had _wanted_ one, and tonight, he had found it.

“Plasmius,” Skulker says carefully, because he knows this ghost, this man, and if he doesn’t tread very carefully, Plasmius won’t hesitate or control his rage in the slightest when swift retaliation is the only thing on his mind, “that child belongs to the ghost hunters.”

There is a second where Plasmius’ breath hitches sharply, and Skulker thinks that he just blew his one strike, and that this is the end of the game for him. But the halfa doesn’t lunge; he squeezes the edges of the table, the metal screeches in protest, and the world rights itself as Plasmius exhales.

“At the moment,” he finally says. “But he isn’t really _theirs_. He belongs with another halfa. With _me._ ”

“Of course,” Skulker agrees, because he can’t be the Ghost Zone’s greatest hunter if he doesn’t exist, “but the hunters won’t let him go without a fight. They think he’s human.”

Plasmius pushes off the table and resumes his pacing.

“A child’s mind is malleable, Skulker. Easily persuaded, if the proper methods are employed. And if all goes well…Jack and Madeline may drive him away without my interference, at the rate their fanaticism is growing. What was the phrase they used? They wanted to rip you apart…?”

“Molecule by molecule,” Skulker finishes. Plasmius gives a contented hum; dread is rapidly pooling in Skulker’s gut, and until this moment, Skulker hadn’t been aware he had a gut for anything to pool in.

“It’s no place for a halfa. You remember what the child said; he’s terrified of what his parents will do if they find out what he is. I _have_ to step in.”

Skulker also remembers Plasmius’ manipulation, the subtle way he ensured the boy’s silence through his fear of his parent’s reaction.

“There’s still a matter of my payment for tonight,” Skulker says. Plasmius, undeterred at the abrupt change in subject, waves his hand.

“You’ll get what’s coming to you,” he says, unworried. “ _And_ interest. But tomorrow, Skulker. I’m busy at the moment.”

He glances between Plasmius, his broken weapons, and the imprints Plasmius’ hands left on the table.

“Let me know when you’ve got another job,” Skulker intones, and without lingering, opens Plasmius’ portal. He wants to get as far away from Plasmius’ plotting as physically possible, and he can feel the call of his haunt from a world away.

“You’ll hear from me soon,” Plasmius replies distractedly, already far away from the conversation.

Skulker stifles a shudder and takes a step into the Ghost Zone.

“Oh, and one last thing, Skulker?” the halfa says pleasantly. The temperature in the room drops about twenty degrees.

The hunter turns back to Plasmius, who is sporting a grin bordering on _lethal_.

“If I hear so much as a whisper about anything you saw tonight, you’ll _beg_ for the end before I’m through with you.”

Skulker nods stiffly, because there isn’t anything more to say. Threat received, loud and clear. As he ~~flees~~ flies away from the halfa’s lair, he thinks about his own next steps, and no matter what direction he tries to take them, they’ve all entwined themselves with halfas and plots of kidnapping and being ripped apart molecule by molecule.

Skulker likes to think that he’s a good sport under normal circumstances. But this? This seems unfair, even by the hunter’s dubious standards. He’s played the game the same way up until now (no holds barred, anything goes, yada yada yada) but he’s got a sneaking suspicion that this is no longer any sort of game he’s willing to play, and if he’s not careful, he’s going to be overwhelmed.

The choice isn’t really up to him any longer, though, with Plasmius involved. Skulker’s sure that anything less than total cooperation will be tantamount to a death sentence, and Plasmius has proven time and again that mercy isn’t even in his _vocabulary_ , let alone his M.O.

Skulker sighs deeply when he’s finally safe within the confines of his own haunt. There’s still a lot to do—weapons to maintain, armor to clean, tech to reprogram—but he just needs to take a moment to reorient himself. Just a moment to feel like he’s in control. One breath, then two, then three—he could stand there forever and never feel the slightest bit better, but he tries. Again: one breath, then two, then three—and that’s enough time wasted on calming down. Skulker heads to his armory, and the preparation begins.

He’s the Ghost Zone’s greatest hunter, after all, and he will _not_ be caught slipping if he has any say in it.

(Skulker doesn’t know it now, but the next few months will prove time and time again how wrong he is about _that_.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Sparkyfrootloops/Frootysparkycakes for the prompt:
> 
> Danny gets his powers at a younger age, maybe the parents get involved!
> 
> Sorry I didn't get the parents involved :,) but I had a lot of fun writing this!


End file.
